


Beneath the Knowledge Tree

by chronicAngel (orphan_account)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Dolorosa isn't called Dolorosa, F/M, I need to be stopped, Kissing, POV Second Person, Sadstuck at the end, importance, throughout his life, tree - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-15 22:45:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5803225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/chronicAngel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Props to anyone who gets the song reference.</p><p>From Rosa's POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beneath the Knowledge Tree

     Your child is one sweep, four perigees, and seventeen days old when he finally masters walking with no help.

     The two of you stand underneath the tree outside your hive, you slightly in front of him and bending over to stand (though not really standing) at about half your natural height, still about a head over him as you smile at him. When you drop his hands, he takes a confused step forward before promptly falling on his behind. A laugh bubbles from your chest, and you don't mean to let it out, you really don't, but when you do he smiles warmly at you and joins with his own high-pitched giggles that make you want to squeeze him tight and never let go, but instead you just take his little hands and help him to his feet.

     While holding his hands, you take a small step backward, and he follows, and you immediately take a couple more. He moves with you pretty well, and you figure that he must have the hang of it if he can walk so well with your help, so you wonder if he can walk so well without your help because for some reason that makes sense. Of course, he can't, and takes a step, and a half, and then falls over again.

     You let out a small sigh of frustration and pick him up, balancing him on your hip as you note that he is definitely getting too big for this. You just shake your head and walk over to the tree, plopping down and gently resting him on his bum next to you, before picking up a book that you must have left in the grass yesterday.

     You open it and feel over the one of the crisp pages, leaning back against the large oak and sighing in ecstasy before smiling down at him, only to see him pout up at you in return. You raise a brow and poke the small lip jutting out, thankful that your relatively sharp nail didn't somehow nick his lip to reveal his red blood. For some reason, likely because you were constantly worrying about him more than you worried about anyone else, even yourself, you came up with situations in your head where his blood was revealed.

     "What's wrong, my son?" Every time you say it, no matter how long you have been saying it, the word feels odd in your mouth, likely because it is a word that you would not naturally say, and only started when trying to figure out how to refer to him aside from by name. The word 'son' is simply not a word that trolls use. You vaguely recall your friends' lusii referring to them as son or daughter around you, but you figured that it was just a lusus thing, and that you would never have to say that particularly peculiar word in reference to anyone or anything. When you manage to stop focusing on the words coming out of your own mouth and realize that your practically infantile son has not yet responded, you look around to find him, only to see him waddling off, occasionally stopping and looking over his shoulder to give you an ecstatic grin, one you are always quick to return. When he's about to get over the hill he has somehow managed to walk his way over to, you run to grab him, because you cannot risk him tripping and getting a scrape any longer than you already have.

     When you pick him up, he grins happily at you, and you balance him on your hip as you take a moment to let your heart return to its normal rate. His small hands grip the loose black fabric of your dress as you hold him, and he nuzzles his face into the cool crook of your neck, its presence announced by the startling warmth he constantly radiates, and his messy black hair brushes against the skin of your neck. All in all, it has been a good day, and you cannot wait to come out to the same spot tomorrow to work on his walk some more.

 

* * *

 

 

     Your child is four sweeps, fifteen perigees, and three days old when he first jumps in a leaf pile.

     You have just finished sweeping all of those leaves into a pile (with a broom, not a rake, because rakes are a bit dangerous when you have a small child roaming the house, and you don't think that you will ever get one because in your eyes he will always be just a boy) and wiping the sweat off of your forehead when you decide to begin the walk back toward your hive, and you have a miniature heart attack when you notice he isn't right behind you.

     You turn on your heel to see him in mid-air and wonder, for a moment, if someone has thrown him, before you see the humongous smile on his face and realize that you are being ridiculous, as usual.

     A few leaves fly into the air as he makes contact with the pile, and even as you are made fully aware that you are going to have to re-do that whole thing at some point, you smile at the fact that he has managed to have so much fun with something so simple.

     When he stands up, he gives you a brief glance, wondering if you're mad, but when he seems to see that there is a smile on your face he quickly begins jumping up and down on the pile, and you are almost tempted to join him. Instead you keep your distance, watching him as he sloppily scoops up all of the leaves he can in his arms and makes a rough pile, no where near as neat as yours. He then walks backward until his back is pressed to the tree, before charging, jumping into the leaves again.

     An idea strikes you, and you grin. "You know you're cleaning that up after you're done with that, right?" You yell, only you're not _really_ yelling. It isn't as if you are angry with him, and your tone shows as much, you have simply raised your voice so that he can hear you, being that you are a few yards away and his hearing has never been quite as good as yours is. Still, it gives him a moment of pause, and he taps his chin as he considers if ruining and hardly reforming this pile is worth the trouble of then having to actively re-make it in a way you have always found incredibly endearing. He glances from you, to the broom in one of your hands, to the leaves under his feet, finally to his hands, before seeming to make a decision on what he thinks about this whole thing. In the end, he just nods at you and begins jumping up and down on the leaves again, causing you to roll your eyes and head back to the hive to put the broom away.

     You watch him from one of the windows in the kitchen for another hour as he visibly gets more and more tired, but you don't decide to intrude until the sun starts to rise. You may enjoy its rays, but you are fully aware that it is harmful to most trolls, and don't want to risk him getting burned, even if it probably won't be all of the way up for another half an hour to an hour. So you head outside to see that he actually started sweeping the pile up in the twenty minutes it took you to make a pot of tea and finish a cup (you hadn't been watching him in that time), and inform him that he can finish tomorrow after breakfast.

 

* * *

 

 

     Your child is seven sweeps, one perigee, and twenty-nine days old when he has his first kiss.

     You don't mean to spy after he tells you that he would prefer to be alone for a little while, but when a girl appears from the tree's branches (the leaves are bright green due to the weather of first summer) and you see her from the corner of your eye, you get interested.

     She happily tucks herself against his side as she glances over his shoulder at his book, and you don't realize that she can't read until you vaguely see him roll his eyes before his lips start moving, and even then, it takes you a moment to realize that he is now reading aloud to her.

     It takes a minute, but soon they've reached what you assume is the end of the chapter, because he closes the book and places it next to him on the warm grass just like you used to when he was young and leans his head to rest on top of hers. It isn't long before she is taking out a book and a piece of charcoal (which is a very outdated thing to write with) and hands it to him, staring intently at his hands as he opens to what could only be the third or fourth page and begins writing. You can't help but smile softly at the two of them as he begins to write with the thing, occasionally pausing to speak or handing the 'writing utensil' (if you could call it that) to her for her to try.

     After a few minutes, you move to make a pot of tea, filling it with water and waiting for the stove to heat up (it enjoys fighting with you and often takes a minute) before putting the pot on the burner. You turn around just in time to see him stand up and take her hand, practically dragging her to a standing position. The look of surprise on her face makes you snort, before focusing on them again. One of his hands goes to her waist, resting on her hip politely, and he doesn't drop her hand, instead entangling their fingers as one of her hands slowly finds its way to his shoulder. You slowly take in a breath as you realize you've been holding it, and you grin at him (despite the fact that he can't see you) because _that's your boy_. He's being a gentleman, slowly resting his forehead against hers and beginning to sway his body, his steps cautious, and eventually she starts to follow his lead, making him speed up just a bit.

     It doesn't take long for them to be moving quickly, before he trips over his own feet and falls back against the tree, dragging her with him. He grimaces as the bark makes scratches along the skin of his back, and you almost run out to make sure that she can't see the blood through his cloak (despite his back still being to the tree) before he takes a couple steps forward and presses his lips to hers. Your face goes green and you move to pour yourself a cup of tea because you aren't sure you want to watch anymore.

     After a moment, you hear the front door open, accompanied by one light chuckle and one surprisingly loud giggle, and you glance up from your cup to see your son and whoever this girl is entering the hive, holding hands and approaching you. "Mom, I want you to meet someone."

 

* * *

 

 

     Your son is seven sweeps, seven perigees, and thirteen days old when when he gives his first speech in front of you, his matesprit, and his moirail.

     You and Psii have taken to calling her his Disciple. In fact, the four of you rarely use names anymore, them referring to you as the Advocate, you referring to them as the Disciple and the Psiioniic, and all three of you referring to your son as Signless. Sometimes, you'll call him son, and Disciple will call him something that only the two of them would understand, and Psii just calling him something rude, and sometimes one of you would refer to one of the others as their actual name, but for the most part you just had titles. You couldn't remember when it started, and frankly you didn't really care.

     Your son, your Signless, is standing on one of the roots of the tree in front you to make himself appear taller, even though you've measured his height every perigee since he could stand up, and Disciple and Psii both stand next to him enough to know his height not only in general, but also in respect to theirs. His back is also straight, for once, and you're beginning to wonder if he's nervous. Dis is laying on her side in front of you, wild hair going every which way, and Psii is next to you with his knees pulled to his chest and his chin resting on top of them, a bored expression ruling over his face despite the fact that you know he's just as proud and excited as you and Disciple.

     He clears his throat before talking, looking over the three of you and giving a small grin before going straight-faced, "I was born about seven sweeps ago. And in that time, I've never stepped foot in a school, or had a lusus, or worn clothes that covered at less than two thirds of my body." He can see all of your faces fall, and gives you a moment of silence before continuing. "Instead, I have a loving mom, and a beautiful matesprit, and an okay moirail." He grins goofily at Psiioniic and receives a small chuckle and a thumbs up in return before Disciple urges him to continue speaking not with words, but with the look that she gives him. "I realize that there are a lot of opportunities that I've missed out on, and that a lot of those opportunities I only missed out on because of the color of my blood. And, quite frankly, I think that's kinda dumb. I think that the system that we live under is run by a power-crazy empress who has been in control for too long, and who needs to be culled by one of the countless heiresses who she's slain already."

     His pause is small, and he realizes that he has the attention of all three of you, making him stand a little straighter (you aren't sure how that's possible) and moving his hands along with his words to emphasize them. "I think that the people who are directly under her in power want her dead just as much as everyone else on this planet does, not because it would make them the new rulers, everyone knows that that's not how it works, but because she's just so insufferable." You blink in surprise and lean forward.

     "I think that we need to see some changes, and I don't think that we need to go to war or assassinate some important official to get them. And I think that there are other people on this planet who agree with me." When he stops, and he stays quiet for a solid ten seconds, the smaller woman in front of you grins and applauds.

     Psii stands up and races with Dis to embrace him first, and of course wins, though you're fairly certain that he used his psionics to hold her back this time because you know that she's faster than that. It takes him a few moments to let go of him, and you assume that he muttered something to your son, because despite you and, you're sure, Dis not hearing anything, he nods in understanding. Instead of allowing her to step up to hug him, he steps down off of his root and wraps his arms around her waist, before dipping her, pressing his lips to hers as her face went rather green, his practically glowing red in contrast. Psiioniic laughs and tells them to get a room as you finally pull him off of her and catch her before she falls, straightening her before hugging your son, squeezing him slightly for but a moment.

 

* * *

 

 

     Your child is eight sweeps, eleven perigees, and you've lost track of how many days in the panic at your hive.

     Disciple clings to Signless as he runs a hand through his hair, the other squeezing hers in the attempt to calm her down, though you know that it isn't working in the slightest and she's only pretending to feel better so that he won't feel bad about himself. You are also fairly certain that he knows too. Psiioniic is outside trying to distill the chaos, or at least fight off the three highbloods causing all of this trouble, and your heart shatters when you look out the window of your somehow still-safe hive.

     Your tree is burning.

     The tree where your son took his first independent steps. The tree where your son first jumped in a leaf pile. Where he had his first kiss. Gave his first speech. And now, the tree where he saw his first fire.

     It takes a lot to hide the tears that stream down your face as you grab his hand tightly, running toward the door, hoping that he hasn't dropped his Disciple-- _your daughter_ \--'s hand because you need both of them to make it out of this alive and well. You rest a hand on his cheek, your watery eyes making contact with his bloodshot ones, before you quickly pecked his other cheek, and moved to kiss your daughter's forehead.

     "You two. Run to Disciple's cave, you will find safety there. I am going to stay here and attempt to salvage the lives of everyone else here through supporting Psii in combat, the two of us will meet you there when we have finished the battle." You know that you might not make it out of this fight. You also know that you probably won't. All that you can hope is that you gave your son the only thing you have ever wanted to give him: a chance to have a life. When you see the looks on their faces, you realize that they know the exact same thing: that you probably will not make it back to Disciple's cave, and that you are just giving them a false promise so they don't lose hope. You clear your throat before you speak, like he did at his speech, his _first_ speech, "I love you, both of you. Now go."

     Smoke fills the air and embers drift from the burning branches of the tree, the occasional one landing on the skirt of your dress and making small holes that will only remind you of this day any time you see it. Glancing down from the tree, you see Psiioniic, sweating, with sparks of red and blue escaping his eyes as he struggles with an indigo blood who must be either very young or _very_ old if Psii can take him this well. You turn your head to watch your other children taking a moment to embrace and kiss before rounding up a group of three or four people and leading them to Dis' cave where they will likely be staying for only a couple of weeks, because from this point on, they will constantly be on the move.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Oh man, I can still write, who would have guessed?


End file.
